


shine outside your halo

by spirantization



Series: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea [3]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Case, Child Death, Conversations, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Season/Series 03, Revelations, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 07:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16132607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirantization/pseuds/spirantization
Summary: Chloe Decker is some type of miracle.[Post-Season 3.]





	shine outside your halo

**Author's Note:**

> i. A huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and interact with the previous two instalments of this series. It's so wonderful to hear your thoughts!
> 
> ii. There is a case in the background of this fic, which deals with a hate crime against an LGBT teen. Please mind the rating and tags.
> 
> iii. The title comes from "Kill the Light" by Lacuna Coil.

Lucifer showed up at her apartment one night with a bottle of red wine and a pair of very good steaks, which was her first clue that things were about to go horribly, horribly wrong. They’d just wrapped up a case, Trixie was with Dan for the weekend, and she had two whole days off.

“I don’t think I’m going to like this,” said Chloe.

“Nonsense,” said Lucifer, brushing past her. “My steaks are excellent.”

She sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Set the table, won’t you, Detective?” he said. His voice was even and calm, but his hands flitted nervously over the knobs of the stove and her array of knives in the block. “You have red wine glasses in the top cupboard.”

She didn’t know that she owned red wine glasses, and suspected he was the one who made the purchase to begin with. Wine glasses were wine glasses as far as Chloe was concerned; a wine glass became a red wine glass if you put red wine in it. But Lucifer was paying just a little too much attention to the herbs he was chopping to be natural for him; it was making her feel nervous as well, so she went along with it. “You can just say whatever it is you came to say,” she said. “Rip off the band-aid.”

“No,” he said, putting two foil-wrapped potatoes into the oven. “I like my torture drawn out, thank you.”

She squinted at him — was that supposed to be a joke? — but set the table anyway. It felt nice, the two of them in the kitchen. It was only marred by the uncomfortable edge of something looming on the horizon.

“Could you pass me the pepper?” he asked. When she handed him the shaker, he made a face. “No pepper grinder? You have no appreciation for the finer things in life.” He pulled a small packet of peppercorns out of the cloth bag he’d brought and set about crushing them under the flat of a knife. “I won’t even bother to ask if you have Himalayan rock salt. I know the answer is no. I brought some anyway.”

“Right,” she said, peering over his shoulder at the cast iron skillet she didn’t think she’d bought. “Where’d you learn how to cook, anyway?”

“Oh, I picked up a few things here and there,” he said. She was certain he was being purposefully vague.

“I’m sure,” she said, leaving him to it and hopping up onto the counter. “Anything you can’t do?”

She tried to make the question sound light and casual, but the meaning behind it was anything but. The question had been burning in the back of her mind ever since she’d found out the truth of his identity, renewed by the little stunt he’d pulled with the rubies the other night. He was probably capable of things she couldn’t even imagine.

Lucifer paused in his chopping to think this through.

“I can’t swim,” he said finally.

“What, seriously?” That wasn’t what she’d been expecting at all.

“Yeah,” he said.

She laughed. “There’s no way,” she said. “You have a pool!”

“I enjoy being in the presence of wet, barely clothed humans, yes,” he said. Chloe rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I take part in all the swimming and splashing about. It’s unnatural.”

She cackled. She’d had a cat growing up that had fallen into the bath once and had emerged miserable and furious; she could picture Lucifer soaking wet, hair sticking up, puffed up with the indignity of having to endure a full-body plunge.

“I am a being of air and fire,” he said defensively. “You try having wet feathers and see how much you like it.”

“We could get you water wings,” she said.

He threw her a dirty look. “Humans,” he said derisively. “It was a big deal when your ancestors crawled out of the ocean and grew lungs, and now you’re all in such a desperate hurry to climb back in.”

“I thought God created humans,” she said, momentarily distracted.

“He did,” Lucifer said. “By changing and tweaking existing life. It takes a lot of work to create something from nothing, even for Him. It’s easier to edit than it is to write, so to speak.”

“Huh,” she said. “So evolution is real.”

“Of course it is. I’m glad to have convinced you, Detective,” he said. She shook her head at him, smiling fondly. “Would you take the potatoes out of the oven?”

She hopped off the counter and reached for an oven mitt. She pulled out two foil-wrapped baked potatoes and set them down. “Are these finished?” she asked, poking at the foil. “They can’t have been in long enough.”

Lucifer snatched them away from her. “They’re twice-baked and they’re already done,” he said. “They just needed to heat up a bit.” He pried at the tinfoil and hissed at the heat as they scorched his fingers.

She hadn’t forgotten about his vulnerability, or the vague — intentional, she suspected — reasons he gave for it. He’d said that his vulnerability didn’t stem from her love for him, but rather that it was ‘the other way around’. She’d been mulling over what that could mean, and thought perhaps she’d stumbled over what he’d meant.

He wasn’t vulnerable because she loved him. He was vulnerable because he loved her.

She didn’t understand the intricacies, the how or the why. It was obviously an open wound, these confusing emotions that he’d never had to deal with before, and he didn’t deserve to have her pick and pry at them just to satisfy her own curiosity. She’d asked him before to his express his love in words, but for all his silver-tongued charm he excelled more in the actions: tackling deranged women with knives, taking bullets for her, and standing in her kitchen cooking her premium steaks.

Because he loved her. That knowledge made her feel warm from the inside out, even though it was also objectively terrifying in some ways and she had absolutely no idea what to do with this newfound discovery.

She could wait to figure it out. They could take it slow.

“Lucifer, this looks amazing,” she said, eyeing the spread before her. If it tasted half as good as it looked she might even agree with Lucifer’s boasts about his skills in the kitchen.

“Of course it does,” he said. “I made it.”

They sat down at the table and she took the first bite. “Oh my God,” she said.

He dropped his cutlery with a thunk and a huff. “ _Really_?” he said. “God wasn’t the one who cooked this!”

She bit back a smile at his familiar indignation. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, reaching over and squeezing his arm. “Old habits. Won’t happen again.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, at least,” he said, mollified. “We really must update your vocabulary.”

“So what are some devil-approved interjections?” she said. “Oh my gosh? Oh geez? Oh golly?”

“You sound eighty,” he said. Chloe thought that was a bit rich coming from him, the literal devil, whose strongest curse appeared to be ‘dearie me’.

“I’m not hearing any suggestions!” she said.

“Darling, if you need to call out to a deity, you can say my name any time you like,” he said, leering at her.

A laugh bubbled out of her. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Bless us, O Satan, for these thy gifts. Eat your steak. It’s amazing.”

They had finished and moved to the couch when Lucifer became jittery once more.

“Should I crack open a new one?” he said, pouring the last of the bottle into her glass and not meeting her eyes. “I think you’ve got another good vintage hiding away somewhere.”

“Lucifer.” She reached out and laid her hand over his. “Please just tell me whatever it is you want to tell me.” She was nervous, but she wanted this. It had been years of not getting the full story, of him hiding behind omissions and technicalities. But they’d made a deal; she’d met his conditions, and now it was his turn to deliver on his end of the bargain. It was time for the truth, whatever was left, to come out.

He made a face and finished off his wine. “As you wish,” he said. He sat up straight, squared his shoulders, and looked her in the eye. She followed suit.

“Detective.” He paused, and reconsidered. “Chloe.” He swallowed. “You asked me if there were any more secrets that I was keeping from you.”

“Yes,” she said. Her stomach clenched. His nervousness was palpable and infectious. She couldn’t imagine what he could possibly have to tell her.

“We made a deal,” he said. She didn’t protest that it had been a bit of an accident; he seemed to take comfort in the surety of his deals and favour. That, at least, was something he understood. “I always hold up my end. You deserve the truth, and only the truth.”

He seemed to be working up to it. “Thank you for coming here and being honest with me,” she told me. “Although I’m struggling to think of what you could possibly tell me about yourself that would top you being the devil.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he said. “This doesn’t have anything to do with me. Or, much to do with me, anyway. This is about you.”

She blinked. “Me?” she asked, totally baffled. What secret could he possibly be keeping that was about her? She was just an ordinary human. The most exciting thing about her life was the interesting company that she kept. She didn’t have any skeletons in her closet. The most scandalous fact about her was that she’d taken her top off for a cheesy movie when she was nineteen.

Lucifer took a deep breath. “My Father — you know, God —”

“Heard of him,” said Chloe.

“Thirty-seven years ago He sent Amenadiel to Earth with a task,” he said. He was looking at her intently. “He was to bless a couple who was unable to have a child.”

He looked as though he had just parted the clouds and revealed the truth of the universe to her.

“I — okay,” she said slowly. “Does He do that often?” People probably prayed to Him all the time to help with conception troubles. She hadn’t thought that He answered, or that there was anyone up there to answer those prayers, but it was nice that He did.

“No,” said Lucifer. “He’d never done it before, and He hasn’t done so since. The couple Amenadiel blessed — it was your parents. You, Chloe Decker, are a miracle.”

Huh. Her mother used to call her a miracle.

“Lucifer, I’m sorry, but I don’t really know what that means,” she said, raising her hands a little helplessly.

Lucifer averted his gaze. “It means you never would have been born had it not been for His doing,” he said.

Had God not sent Amenadiel down to Earth, she never would have been born. That was… a lot. It was one thing to have proof of the divine, to know for sure that there was a God, and quite another to know that her life never would have existed had it not been for divine intervention.

Her parents would never have had a child. Who knew what that would have meant for their lives. Would they have adopted? Would her mother have pursued greater roles in films? Would her father, without a daughter to bring sandwiches after her acting classes, still be alive?

Trixie wouldn’t exist. Her daughter, so full of bright smiles and exuberance, wouldn’t be alive. Forget her own life — if there was a world where there was no Trixie, she didn’t want to live in it.

But none of this really answered the real question.

“Why?” she said at last. “I mean — why me?”

Lucifer let out a humourless laugh. “Well,” he said. “That is the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Why, indeed?” He paused, then began again, slowly. “Have you ever wondered why my powers don’t work on you?”

“What, your desire mojo thing?” Chloe blinked, trying to switch to his new train of thought. She couldn’t figure out his leaps in logic sometimes. “Maybe I did, at first. But not lately. Why? What’s that got to do with it?”

“Well,” he said. “It appears dear old Dad sent you down here with a little extra immunity to divinity. My powers don’t work on you. But Amenadiel’s do, so you don’t have blanket immunity to angelic influence. Just to me.”

There was a horrible feeling in her gut, like the anticipation of a drop before it actually happened. She’d always hated rollercoasters.

“Dad knew I was going to leave Hell,” he continued. “So He created you and put you in my path.”

And there was the drop. 

“Why?” she said again.

“I don’t know, Chloe,” he said, shaking his head. “I promise you I don’t. Was it to manipulate me? To control me? To test me? Does He control all of your feelings? I don’t know.”

God had ensured her birth, had made specifically sure that she was born in this time and place, had made sure the powers of the devil didn’t work on her. Some people went their whole lives without knowing their purpose, and here was Lucifer, telling her it was all about him.

“So you’re saying,” she said. “That my entire existence revolves around you.” Her voice was hard.

Lucifer reared back as if she’d hit him. “I didn’t say that,” he denied quickly.

“But that’s what you were implying, wasn’t it?” she said. “I exist to — to test you, is that it?”

“I don’t know,” said Lucifer, shaking his head. “I don’t know what His plan is.”

God had a plan for her, was that it? Her whole life, all her choices and achievements — was she just some sort of puppet, her strings being pulled by a divine being above? Were her thoughts and feelings and actions her own, or were they dictated to her?

She wondered how many soul-wrenching revelations she could endure before she crumbled under the weight of them all. Learning that Lucifer was the devil hadn’t broken her, but perhaps this one might. “But you think I’m some sort of mindless puppet?”

“You’re not _mindless_ , just —” He cut himself off, seeming to realize that she wouldn’t want to hear whatever it was he had to say. She really didn’t want to know where he was going with that.

“I think you should go,” she said, voice small.

“Chloe, please —” he said.

“I want you to go,” she said carefully.

He nodded. He stood up and briefly reached out to her, and then seemed to decide against it. “I’m always here for you,” he said softly.

She waited until she heard the Corvette’s engine fading into the distance before she started to cry.

* * *

There was a new case waiting for her on Monday, and she knew before she even got there that this was going to be a hard one. Her suspicions were confirmed as soon as she saw the body.

“Detective!” came the cheery call from the end of the alley. Chloe closed her eyes. She’d spent the weekend alternating between viciously analyzing every major decision she’d ever made and loudly telling the ceiling that she was in control of her own life. She just wanted to slot herself back into her normal routine, and she didn’t want to have to deal with whatever mind game Lucifer had decided to play today. She felt him halt beside her. “Oh.”

She opened her eyes. Lucifer was staring down at the body. “That is a child,” he said. Dead bodies and the horrors of cases never seemed to bother him — he’d probably seen everything under the sun — but he sounded repulsed by this one.

“Name’s James Philips,” said Ella. “Sixteen years old.” She crossed herself.

“He’s just a kid,” Chloe said. These were always the hard ones. He wasn’t much older than Trixie. She’d turned ten a couple of months ago. What was the difference of six years, really? “Do we know the cause of death?”

“Blunt force trauma,” said Ella. “Probably a baseball bat, based on the bruise patterns. His body was dumped here, so no murder weapon. Looks like he’s been dead for about twelve to fourteen hours.”

“So someone killed a child and dumped his body in an alley?” said Lucifer, cold and furious. “Excellent.”

“Not really,” said Ella. She stood up and eyed Lucifer a little judgementally.

“Oh no, you misunderstand,” he said, smiling in a decidedly unpleasant way. “I love child killers. You don’t have to feel guilty about peeling the flesh from their bones.”

He’d said these sorts of things before, with the casual air of someone announcing their coffee preference; this was the first time since Chloe had discovered the truth that she’d heard him do that, rather than directly responding to a question. It had a new weight now that she knew he had actually _done_ these things and wasn’t just being dramatic. Her body jerked involuntarily and she pulled her jacket closer around her. Lucifer had spent God knew how long in Hell torturing souls — torture that included flaying people.

The worst part was that, in moments such as these when he exuded menace and wrath, she could imagine him with a whip in his hand.

“That’s pretty dark, dude,” said Ella.

Chloe wasn’t looking at him, but she felt the sudden heat of his presence against her side. “Apologies, Detective,” Lucifer murmured in her ear.

“Any security cams?” she asked, choosing to ignore him. She could only deal with one thing at a time, and right now she wanted to forget all about torture and damnation and miracles and divine interventions. She wanted to catch this killer.

“Not in the alley,” said Ella. “There might be some traffic footage from either end, though.”

“Right,” said Chloe. “Let’s see what we can pull up. Lucifer and I will talk to his family and see if they can give us anything.” She turned heel and strode away, not waiting to see if he was behind her. But of course he was, sliding into the passenger seat of her car and looking at her as if she were a bomb about to explode.

“First thing’s first,” she said, staring out the window and pointedly not looking at him. “Your Father may have put me in your path, whatever that means, but I am my own person, with my own feelings, and my own life, and my existence does not revolve around you.” She tried to ignore the way her voice wavered.

Lucifer was nodding. “Agreed.”

“No one is sitting up in the sky controlling what I do or how I feel,” she continued.

“Of course not,” he said. He looked ready to offer her the sun and stars if only she kept telling him off.

“My birth may have been the work of divine intervention,” she said. “But I am who I am because of my parents and my family and my experiences, all of which I had before I ever stumbled into your club and heard your ridiculous name.”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“So we can just carry on,” she said. “Like normal.”

“An excellent idea, Detective,” he said, nodding some more.

“Secondly,” she paused. “It is one thing to understand that you’re the devil, and to see your —” she waved her hand around her face.

“—Devil face,” Lucifer supplied.

“—Yes, your devil face, sure,” she said. “And it another things to hear you casually talk about flaying people alive. It’s a little… chilling.”

“Well, to be fair, souls aren’t actually alive,” he said. She turned to glare at him and he backtracked. “Of course, that’s not the point. If it makes you feel any better, flaying is hardly standard practice for damned souls. Just the very wicked ones.”

“Like people who beat sixteen-year-old kids to death with a baseball bat and dump their bodies in an alley?” she said quietly.

He nodded. Chloe put the car into gear and decided that that was about all she could handle for the moment. She had to focus on catching a killer and getting justice in this life; she couldn’t focus on the implications of punishment after death. That wasn’t her job, and she tried very hard not to think about how the person whose job it _was_ was currently riding shotgun.

* * *

James Philip’s family consisted of his mother, who was beside herself with grief. She was clutching a photo album and rocking back and forth on the couch when they were let into the house by the officer who had delivered the news.

“I don’t understand,” she was saying. “I don’t understand who could do something like this to my baby.”

“That’s what we want to find out,” Chloe said. She couldn’t imagine being in her shoes, having the police come to her door and tell her that Trixie had been beaten to death and dumped in an alley. “Ms. Philips, I hate to ask this, but I need to know where you were last night between seven and nine in the evening.”

“Of course, I — I work at the Albert Street Diner,” she said. “I had the dinner shift last night. Six to two. I came home and went right to bed. I didn’t — I didn’t even know he wasn’t here until I woke up this morning and the police came —” She sobbed once again.

“I know this is difficult,” said Chloe. She said that a lot, but she didn’t really know, did she? The woman’s son had been murdered; her own father’s death had been devastating, but it had to be different when it was your child. “Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt him?”

Ms. Philips looked desperate. “Why would anyone want to hurt him?” she said. “My baby just turned sixteen. He went to school and hung out with his friends. He played baseball.” She dissolved into a fresh wave of tears.

Lucifer shifted beside her. He was obviously uncomfortable with the display of emotion, but for once was wisely keeping quiet about it. “And what about one of his little friends?” he asked. “Might one of them know something?”

“I can give you their names,” Ms. Philips said. Chloe offered her a piece of paper from her notebook and a pen.

“Thank you, Ms. Philips,” said Chloe. “We’re going to do everything we can to find out who did this.”

Lucifer broke his uncharacteristic silent streak once they were back at the precinct. “So let’s find his little friends and question them until one of the little urchins spews something interesting,” he said.

“You can’t just hunt them down and scare them half to death,” Chloe told him. “They’re all minors. We need to do this by the book, otherwise their parents will be after us.”

“That is outrageous,” he said. She turned to her computer instead of responding. He flopped elegantly into the chair on the other side of her desk and pulled out his flask.

“Chloe, there you are,” Dan said, approaching her desk. “There’s a kid here who’s looking for you. Wants to talk to you about your new case.”

Chloe looked over at Lucifer, who was as confused as she was. “Where is he?” she asked, standing up.

“In interrogation,” Dan said. “Looks pretty wrecked.”

“Thanks, Dan,” she said as she and Lucifer walked past him and into the room.

A teenaged boy sat there, his eyes ringed red as if he’d been crying for a long time. He was holding a cup of the precinct’s coffee-like swill and it looked as though it was the only thing keeping him from falling off the chair. He was about James Philips’ age.

“Are you the detective in charge of the James Philips case?” he asked.

“My name is Detective Chloe Decker, and this is my partner, Lucifer Morningstar,” she said, sitting down across from him. “What’s your name?”

“Michael Smith,” he said. “I was James’ friend.”

“I have a brother named Michael, you know,” said Lucifer, his tone perfectly friendly as he slid into the chair beside her.

“Oh,” said Michael. “Um, that’s nice.”

“No, he’s a right prick,” said Lucifer. “You’ve got a terrible namesake. Come to confess to murder, have you?”

“No!” Michael cried. “I never would hurt Jay, never!”

Chloe shot Lucifer a look to cease and desist. She didn’t need him smearing his issues with his family all over a case that had nothing to do with him. It wasn’t the kid’s fault he was named after one of Lucifer’s brothers.

“Okay, Michael,” said Chloe. “I believe you. So why are you here?”

Michael took a deep breath. He set down his coffee. “My dad is the one who killed James.”

The silence was heavy.

“That’s quite the accusation,” said Lucifer. He steepled his fingers and leaned forward with interest.

“Do you have any proof?” Chloe asked.

“I know he did it,” Michael insisted. “I don’t know how, but I know he did. If you search my house, you’ll find the murder weapon or something. There’s gotta be DNA or fingerprints you can use, right? You have to.”

“What makes you think your father killed your friend?” said Lucifer. “Don’t get me wrong, I believe you that he did it. I, too, have homicidal parents. Well, mother, anyway.”

“Jay — James was my boyfriend,” Michael said, looking at Lucifer a little apprehensively. “My dad —” He broke off and looked at the table.

“Ah,” said Lucifer, leaning back. “Your father is a homophobic dickbag.”

Michael nodded. “We kept it a secret,” he said. “We were careful, but — we slipped up.”

“He caught you,” said Chloe.

“We were just kissing,” he said. “But dad walked in and oh my God, he flipped. Threw James out of the house. Told me God hates me and I’m going to Hell. Decided to get a jump on the torture.” He lifted up his shirt sleeves, showing swathes of bruises. Chloe’s entire body clenched in anger. “He left the house, after. I know he went after Jay. I know it.”

“We’ll look into it, Michael,” said Chloe. “We’ll go and talk to him.”

“You can’t tell him I spoke to you,” he pleaded. “He’ll kill me.” The poor kid just might be right about that part.

“We won’t tell him,” Chloe said. “James’ mother gave us a list of his friends, and we’ll be following up. You’re on the list. You might see us at your house, and we might ask to speak to you again there. But we’ll be discreet when we speak to your father.”

Michael nodded. “Okay,” he said.

“Do you need a ride home?” she asked.

“Oh God, no,” he said. “I’m supposed to be in school. This is my lunch hour.”

“Here’s my card,” said Chloe, passing it over. “If anything else happens, or if you need any help, you can give me a call.”

Michael took the card with trembling hands. “I hope I’m wrong,” he said. “I really, really hope I’m wrong. Otherwise I really am going to Hell.”

“You’re not going to Hell,” Lucifer told him. “And James Philips didn’t go.”

He sounded very sure. Chloe didn’t know if she was ready yet to understand exactly what went on when people got to Hell, but it was a relief that the devil didn’t think a couple of teenagers whose only crime was kissing under the roof of a homophobe were Hell-bound. The knowledge eased something in her chest that she didn’t know she was feeling.

“Thanks,” said Michael. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, but thanks. My dad certainly does, and he says all gay people go to Hell.”

“There are plenty of gay people in Hell, of course,” said Lucifer. “But last I checked, no one was in Hell _because_ they were gay.”

“I guess.” Michael looked at Lucifer the way most people did when he said these sorts of things: as if he were crazy and they wanted to exit the conversation as quickly as possible.

Once Michael had left, Chloe turned to Lucifer. “That was very nice of you,” she said.

He glared at her as if she had thoroughly insulted him. “I wasn’t trying to be _nice_ ,” he snapped. “It’s the truth.”

“I believe you,” she said, touching his arm gently. “It was still nice.”

* * *

Nathan Smith wasn’t nearly as forthcoming as his son had been.

“Yeah, I knew the kid,” said Smith. He didn’t invite them into the house, but instead stepped outside to speak to them. “Always hanging around my son, trying to corrupt him with his sinful ways.”

“And you thought you’d teach him a lesson, did you?” said Lucifer. “Hit him a few too many times with a baseball bat?”

“What are you talking about?” Smith said.

“Why don’t you tell me what it is you want, hmm?” Lucifer asked. His gaze was like a physical entity, hooking into Nathan Smith and putting him under some sort of thrall. In their years working together she’d started to take it a bit for granted, but in truth it was rather menacing; a superhuman ability, a literal gift from God, that dragged people under Lucifer’s will. Witnessing it now, she was suddenly thankful that it didn’t work on her — and she supposed that she knew exactly who to thank for that, didn’t she?

“I want to be righteous in the eyes of God,” Smith whispered. Lucifer blinked and pulled back with a disgusted noise. Smith shook his entire body as he came back to himself. “I didn’t lay a finger on that kid,” he insisted.

Lucifer grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him up against the side of his house. “You’re a liar,” he said. “I hate liars. I know you killed that boy.”

“Get off me!” Smith cried, struggling to get free.

“Lucifer,” Chloe warned. “Let him go.”

Lucifer held Smith still for a moment. “Fine,” he said. He let go of the other man and he dropped to the ground.

Smith glared up at them. “I’m not sorry the little faggot is dead,” he spat. “But I didn’t kill him.”

Lucifer put his foot against Smith’s chest and pressed down hard enough to keep him in place. “There’s no need for such foul language,” he said.

“I need you to account for you whereabouts yesterday between seven and nine pm,” Chloe said. She should scold Lucifer for his actions, but, well, Smith sort of deserved what he was getting.

“I was at home,” Smith said. Lucifer moved his foot away and he struggled to haul himself to his feet.

“Can anyone confirm your alibi?” she asked.

“My son.”

“Can we speak to him?” Chloe asked.

“No, you can’t,” said Smith. “My son is a good boy. I am putting him back onto the righteous path. He fell victim to temptations of the flesh and drowned himself in sin. His will was weak. The devil sent one of his demons to tempt him, and now he’s back in Hell where he belongs.”

Lucifer looked affronted. “I most certainly did not,” he snapped.

Chloe turned to him and spoke in a low voice so that Smith couldn’t hear her. “Lucifer, just leave it,” she said.

He continued to glare at Smith. “I haven’t done anything to your son,” he said. “You’re the one who decided to beat his boyfriend to death.”

“You should get out of here,” Smith told them, pointing with a shaking hand away from his house.

“I should break a bone for every filthy thing you’ve said today,” Lucifer told him.

“Lucifer —” Chloe started.

“I know you killed him,” he said. “Even if you escape punishment in life, you’ll get your due. There’s a special corner of Hell waiting for you.”

“Lucifer, that’s enough,” she said. “Stop scaring him.”

“Get off my property!” Smith cried.

“We’re leaving, Mr. Smith,” Chloe said, gripping Lucifer by his arm and leading him away. But Lucifer wasn’t done his tirade.

“The things I get blamed for,” he seethed as they walked down the steps to the car. “As if I care who’s gay and who’s not. I do a lot of things that go against my Father, but having sex with men isn’t one of them.”

“Don’t let him get to you,” Chloe said. “He’s not worth it.”

“It’s not just him. You humans really are filthy little creatures, aren’t you?” he said nastily.

She drew back, stung. She’d heard him say similar things in the past — _you humans and your money!_ — but it felt personal in a way it had never done so before. She supposed that dealing with humans for eons in Hell would be enough to make anyone jaded. She’d seen him scoff and snarl and belittle people enough to realize that he didn’t care too much for them.

But the way he spoke now sounded like the way someone would complain about a cockroach: as something vile and distasteful but easily dismissed. If humans really were just filthy little creatures to him, then what did that make her? If he thought that she was a trick, a test, some kind of manipulation — he couldn’t think she was any better than the rest of humanity.

“I guess we are,” she snarled back. Lucifer turned to face her.

“Don’t tell me you’re defending that miserable little cretin,” he scoffed.

“No,” she said. “I suppose I just don’t like being lumped in with people like him. Sorry we’re not all the _devil_.”

“No, you aren’t,” he said, furious. “You aren’t vilified or blamed for every scrap of evil humans perpetrate. Humans commit atrocities and claim it’s in the name of God or, oh, ‘the devil made me do it’! It’s sickening.”

“If you find humans so sickening, then why are you bothering with me?” she shouted at him.

She knew it was the wrong thing to say when he turned abruptly on his heel and started to walk away from her, but she was too incensed to care. That was the thing, wasn’t it? If he was so convinced that God had sent her down here to manipulate him, then why was he so — so _hell-bent_ on being around her?

“Where are you going?” she yelled after him. “The car is over here!”

“I’m going home,” he said, not looking back at her.

“Well, we’re all the way on the other side of town,” she shouted, fumbling for the door handle of her car. “So have fun _flying_ or whatever!”

Chloe got into the car and slammed the door shut behind her before he could call anything back to her. That definitely could have gone better.

* * *

That night she was back on her couch when a knock came at the door. It was Lucifer, because of course it was. He let himself in before she could even stand up.

“We never really resolved our last conversation,” he said tentatively, after they had both been silent for a while.

“Have you come to insult my species some more?” she asked. 

“I don’t think you’re filth,” he said. “Nathan Smith, sure. But not you. I’m not — I apologize for insinuating that you were anything like him. I don’t think of you that way.”

She sighed. If she had spent countless centuries in Hell with people like Nathan Smith, she wouldn’t be all that impressed with humanity as a whole either. “Sometimes it’s just like it hits me all over again,” she said. “You’re the devil. Or an angel. You’re not… human.”

“I’m not,” he said, sinking down on the couch beside her. He was a little hesitant, as if unsure of his welcome. “But there’s hope for you lot, at least. You, Detective, are an especially good example of a human being. If more humans were like you, Hell would be much emptier.”

“I’m a miracle, apparently,” she said. She didn’t feel very miraculous. She felt very, very tired.

“And how are you swallowing that particularly jagged pill?” he asked.

“Let’s see,” she said, flopping back into the couch and looking up at the ceiling. “God created me and put me on Earth to interact with His son, who’s the devil and has spent thousands of years torturing souls. The ‘why’ is a complete mystery for everyone except for Him. That about sums it up, right?”

“More or less,” said Lucifer, giving a half-hearted shrug.

“I don’t know, Lucifer,” she said. “I don’t know what to say to you. I was already way out of my depths with the whole you being the devil thing, and now this? I don’t know how I’m supposed to react.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Lucifer, “I reacted by running away to Las Vegas and getting married.”

She blinked at him. “Seriously?” she said. Then she laughed. “Well, that may actually explain the bedazzled bimbo.”

“Candy’s actually quite lovely,” he said. “The bimbo thing was an act, you know. I needed some assistance and she was kind enough to help me out.”

“What, out of the goodness of her heart?”

“I paid off some debts she had to a rather unscrupulous loan shark,” he said. A deal, then. That made more sense than it didn’t, so she let it go. It must have been a blow for him to find out about her origins just when they were on the cusp of starting something, just like these revelations had sprung up when she was finally feeling ready to move forward with him once again.

“I don’t know why God ensured my birth,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know what sort of plan He has for me, or how you factor into it. But I know I’m my own person. I know my feelings are my own.”

“You have free will,” said Lucifer quietly, maybe even enviously.

“I do,” she said. “I believe that wholeheartedly. And… I need you to believe that, too. Because if you don’t, if you really think that I’m some sort of manipulation sent by your Father, then —” She stopped. She didn’t think she could finish that thought. She didn’t want to start issuing ultimatums. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

“I’m not good at accepting when things go right in my life,” he said. “You’re so good, and I — I keep waiting for the catch.”

“What if there’s no catch?” she said.

“I’m struggling with that,” he said. “Historically, that hasn’t been the case.”

He’d been cast into Hell for wanting free will. Of course he was struggling. Of course he assumed that anything orchestrated by his Father had nefarious intentions.

“You’ve suffered,” she said. “Maybe God thinks you’ve suffered enough.”

“I don’t like it when He meddles in my life,” Lucifer said. “With you, I thought I’d found something, someone He hadn’t tainted. Should’ve known. I kept trying to push you away because I thought you didn’t have a choice.”

She’d assumed that his constant hot and cold treatment of her was the result of abandonment issues and emotional fragility; she never could have guessed how right she was. Had she fallen for Lucifer, and then discovered that her mother had been the one to arrange the whole thing — well, she would likely be a bit irrational too.

“Alright,” Chloe said. “Let’s think this through, because jumping to half-baked conclusions never did anybody any good.” She pulled her feet up onto the couch and tucked them under her, turning to face him fully. “Best case scenario: God put someone on Earth who’s immune to your power. I have free will, you have free will, and it’s not a test or a manipulation. There are no strings attached.”

“Unlikely,” Lucifer said. “This is my Father we’re talking about.”

“This is our best case scenario!”

“Fine,” he said. “Dad’s feeling benevolent. Why?”

She’d thought about that, but she didn’t think he’d like her theory. “Olive branch?” she said.

“That is preposterous,” he said, proving her right. “Dad feels bad about what He’s done after a few millennia so he throws a human at me to apologize? Absurd.”

“Well, I’m not a box of chocolates,” she said. “But sure. Maybe I’m immune to your powers so you could have a friend. You know, without the whole desire thing getting in the way.”

“I don’t need help making friends,” he said haughtily. Chloe thought about saying that having sex with someone didn’t count as friendship and that she’d probably been his first real friend maybe ever — but, well, it was mean and Lucifer didn’t need to hear that, even if it was true.

“Okay, then,” she said. “Worst case scenario: God put me on Earth to manipulate you. Everything I say or do or feel is controlled by Him. I don’t have free will.”

“I don’t like that one either,” said Lucifer.

“What am I supposed to be manipulating you into doing, anyway?” she said. “That part is a little vague.”

“Going back to Hell? Being an angel? Becoming the dutiful son He always wanted me to be?”

“How exactly am I supposed to be manipulating you into doing any of those things?” she said. “You barely listen to me when I ask you not to threaten people with dismemberment.”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” he said. “God works in mysterious ways and all that.”

“Well, let me know when you do,” she said. “In the meantime, I am going to continue to live my life as though my higher purpose isn’t to manipulate the devil into doing something, at some point, for some reason.”

“Ah,” Lucifer said. “I suppose I’m making this about me, aren’t I?”

“Just a bit,” she said, but she found herself smiling anyway.

“Well, I’ll say no more,” he said. “I’ve got it totally under control. This conversation is all about you, Detective.”

“Good,” she said, nodding. “Because I need to focus on my existential crisis without having to worry about yours.”

He laughed at that. “You don’t like being a miracle?”

“I’ve never been happy to blindly put my faith in something,” she said. “I like having proof, and I like having a definite answer. I guess I feel like I don’t really have any of those things anymore.”

“You can ask me anything,” Lucifer said. “I always tell you the truth.”

He did, didn’t he? There was a lump in her throat. “I know you will,” she said. She managed a laugh. “It sounds crazy, but I sort of want to talk to God.”

Lucifer snorted. “Well, don’t go looking at me for introductions,” he said. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms.”

“No, I don’t want to meet Him or anything,” she said. “I just want Him call me on the phone and explain everything.”

“That would be something,” Lucifer said. “Ask for it and see what happens.”

“I don’t even know how I’d go about it,” she said. “Are you there, God? It’s me, Chloe.”

She thought he would laugh and call the idea ridiculous, but he actually looked as though he was taking it seriously. “That might actually work,” he said. “He doesn’t talk to me, but he might talk to you.”

She groaned. “Be serious.”

“I am!” He considered that, and then amended it. “Well. Mostly. You’re His miracle, I’m sure He’s paying more attention to you than to the average human.”

“That… is actually very unsettling,” Chloe said. She couldn’t help but look up at the ceiling as if she would be able to see a great pair of eyes staring down at her.

“You’re telling me,” he said. “He’s my Father, and He’s all-knowing. Can’t do a bloody thing without Him looming over me and sending my siblings down here to try to boss me around.”

“Is that why Amenadiel is here?” she asked. She didn’t know much about the Bible or the mythology of angels, but she had this idea in her head that angels and the devil that they were supposed to be great foes. Instead they appeared to be mostly… mutually exasperated.

“Mostly,” he said. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

“I’d like to hear it,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ve been coming to Earth for a few thousands years, you know,” Lucifer said. “Took a vacation every now and then.”

“Sex, drugs, and alcohol?” she guessed.

“Detective!” He grinned. “You _do_ know me!”

She rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, eventually Amenadiel would show up and I would graciously allow him to escort me back down to Hell,” he said. “He has terrible timing. Do you know how many orgies he’s interrupted?”

“Tragic,” she said.

“I know,” he said, breezing past her sarcasm. “Anyway, when I decided to make this particular jaunt more permanent, he stuck around, plotting to kill me, you know.”

“Uh, no,” said Chloe. “I don’t.” Seriously, what was up with this family?

“He brought Malcolm back from Hell, tried to get him to kill me, then Fell because those are all rather sinful deeds, lost his wings and his powers, and has been generally moping around for the past couple of years.”

Chloe thought about that for a minute. “I don’t think I can react to anything anymore,” she said. “Amenadiel brought Malcolm back from Hell. Why not? That’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve heard this week.”

“Life was easier when you thought I was crazy,” said Lucifer.

“I think we need to go over all the cases we’ve worked together in chronological order, and you tell me all the side adventures you’ve been having while I assumed you were avoiding doing paperwork,” she told him. Lucifer ran off to deal with family drama a lot. Like, a suspicious amount.

“I do not have _side adventures_ ,” he said.

“Your family drama, then,” she said.

Lucifer sighed. “Dearie me,” he said. “If we’re going to do that, we need to break out the good stuff. It might take a while.” He got off the couch and went to raid her kitchen.

“I’ve got time!” she shouted after him.

* * *

In the end, they didn’t have to go looking for Smith. He came to them, stumbling into the precinct, looking ill and wild-eyed.

“I was doing God’s work,” he said.

“Just calm down,” said Chloe, one hand on her gun and one hand reaching out to him. “What was God’s work?”

“I killed him,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I killed the Philips kid. He was going to drag my son to Hell. God told me to do it.”

“Well, aren’t you something,” Lucifer said, just a hair too calmly for Chloe to feel at ease. “I mean, God doesn’t even talk to His own children, but He makes his will clear to you?”

“Nathan Smith, you’re under arrest for the murder of James Philips,” Chloe said, taking out her handcuffs and snapping them around his wrists. 

“God will reward His righteous soldiers,” Smith said. “You may punish me in life, but I will have a place of honour in Heaven.”

“This is making me sick,” said Lucifer, disgust colouring every line of his body. “You’re a repugnant creature and you deserve far worse than where you’re headed.” A uniformed officer hauled Smith away before either of them could say more.

She turned to Lucifer. “Suspicious,” she said. “Him just turning himself in like that.”

“Maybe he was compelled by a divine presence to confess to his crimes,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“Sure,” she said.

It was later, after most of the precinct had cleared out for the day and she was filing out paperwork, that she worked up the courage to ask. She knew Lucifer would answer honestly and tell her anything she wanted to know, but it was a door to knowledge that she couldn’t close once it’d been opened.

“When he dies,” she began. “He’ll go to Hell, right?”

Lucifer stopped fiddling with her paperclips and leaned back. He looked as if he were giving her question some serious thought.

“It’s possible,” he said finally.

“‘It’s possible’?” she repeated. “I thought you’d be more sure than that. He beat a sixteen-year-old kid to death. That doesn’t buy him an automatic one-way ticket?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said. “If he feels guilt, remorse, or if he feels he should be punished for his actions — then he’ll go. He might continue to live the rest of his life thinking he did the right thing and he’ll end up in the Silver City.”

“You don’t have a say?” she asked. She’d assumed that was part of his job.

“I’m a punisher, not a judge,” said Lucifer.

“Huh,” she said. “I’m surprised. I assumed there were certain things that, if you did them, you’d go to Hell for sure.” She wasn’t sure whether basing it around guilt was such a good system; surely there were sociopaths who had done terrible things in life who didn’t feel a shred of guilt about them. Did they just get a free pass after death?

“Sorry to disappoint,” he said. “Humans decide where they go when they die, and then they decide their own punishment when they get there.”

“What, they torture themselves?” she said.

“Mm-hmm,” he said. “With a little flair thrown in from yours truly, of course.”

“It’s not all just —” she trailed off.

“Slicing and dicing?” he offered.

“I guess,” she said.

“Well, one must be careful of the masochists, darling,” he said. “And why bother with all the whips and chains when you can make someone dance the Macarena for the rest of time?”

She drew a breath, and then his words hit her fully. “Seriously?” she said. “Wow.”

“You didn’t know the depths of my depravity until just now, did you?” he said.

She felt the barest hint of a smile and immediately was awash with guilt. She physically scrubbed it away with one hand. “I don’t know if I can joke about the torture of damned souls.” She met his eyes. “But — thank you. For telling me.”

“Of course,” he told her. “But don’t feel too bad for them. They’re not innocent. The murder of a sixteen year old boy isn’t the worst offence committed by humanity. Besides, they can leave whenever they want. I’m not a jailer.”

“So they can just get up a leave?” she said. “I thought eternal damnation would be more, well, eternal.”

He shrugged. “I mean, they _don’t_ , but they can. Once they don’t feel guilty anymore. There are doors, but no locks.” He gestured to himself. “How do you think I’m here?”

There wasn’t much she could say to that, but she reached out and laid her hand on his arm and squeezed. “I’m glad you are,” she said softly.

“Me too,” he said, smiling at her gently.

* * *

Chloe didn’t think she would ever get a chance to talk to God, but Amenadiel showed up again, which was probably as close as she was ever going to get.

“Amenadiel,” Chloe said stiffly. She’d gotten his message to meet her downstairs at Lux; it was deserted, too early for the evening crowd to have settled in. He looked calm, sitting at the bar with a drink in front of him, and certainly nothing like how she felt. She stayed on her feet. She couldn’t help but remember the last time they’d spoken privately, how she’d been so close to the truth before he’d shown up to gaslight her.

“Hello, Chloe,” he said. “I think perhaps it’s time we had a talk.”

She decided to skip the niceties and pointless small-talk. 

“Why’d you lie to me?” she asked. “Why did you try so hard to stop me from finding out the truth?” It had been barely a few feet away from where she stood now that he’d dangled the truth of the divine in front of her and then told her it was all a lie and that Lucifer was all but delusional. Who knew what might have happened without his meddling? Would she have found out the truth that much sooner?

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Chloe, you have to understand that my actions had nothing to do with who you are as a person,” he said. “I respect you and your intelligence.”

“So why lie?” she asked again.

“Because humans and the divine don’t mix,” he said. “Humans were never supposed to have proof of divinity. It’s too big a concept for you to handle.”

“That’s great, thanks,” she said, bristling. His tone was a touch too condescending for her, and it rubbed her the wrong way just as Lucifer’s anti-human diatribe had the day before. Lucifer had a low opinion of humans in general, barring a select few; perhaps that wasn’t a trait inherent to him so much as all angels.

“I’m not trying to insult you,” Amenadiel said. “But be honest. Has this knowledge given you any peace or comfort?”

She couldn’t claim that it had, but she didn’t want to admit it. “I’m still processing everything,” she said. “And I have a little more to process than the average human, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ah,” said Amenadiel. “So my brother really _did_ tell you everything.”

“That I’m a miracle?” Chloe said. “That God sent you to bless my parents? That my birth is the result of divine intervention? Yes. He mentioned it.” She stopped, thinking about what she wanted to say. Amenadiel stood in front of her, stoic and calm. “Did you know, when you did it — did you know that I was supposed to cross paths with Lucifer? Did you know why, or what He intended —” She cut herself off.

Amenadiel waited a moment, his gaze kind. “My Father set me a task, and I did not question Him,” he told her. “He did not tell me who you would become, or why He wanted you on Earth.”

“You didn’t bother to ask?” It came out biting.

He laughed softly, a smile breaking through the aloof angelic demeanour. “Tell me, Chloe. When your lieutenant gives you an order, do you question, or do you obey?”

“I obey,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t question if the situation calls for it. And God isn’t your lieutenant. He’s your Father.”

“For us, it’s the same thing,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly.

“That’s messed up,” she said frankly. “Parents shouldn’t order their children around with no explanation.”

“You sound like Lucifer,” he said. “Or perhaps it is my brother who sounds human.” It didn’t sound like an insult, but she had to wonder if he meant it as one.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Not at all,” Amenadiel said. “My brother has been coming to Earth for thousands of years and — _interacting_ with humans. I think he started doing it out of curiosity, but now genuinely likes it here. He feels that he belongs here.”

“And you think he doesn’t?” she said.

“I used to believe that,” he said. “Now, with you, I’m not so sure anymore.”

For supposedly being God’s chosen emissary, Amenadiel sure was lacking on having any answers. He sounded just about as clueless as her, but also strangely at peace with it. Maybe that came with having a cosmically enigmatic father.

“Lucifer told me you kept sending him back to Hell,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “Because I thought that was what my Father wanted. Because I thought that was what was best for everyone, including him.”

“What about what Lucifer wants?” she said.

“Oh, I see,” said Amenadiel, leaning back. “He told you about his quest for free will.”

“And how God cast him out for it?” she said. “Yeah.” As a beat cop, she’d met both sides of that particular dynamic: the rebellious teenager thrown out of the house and the angry parent who felt justified in their actions. She’d never been impressed with their logic and she’d seen first-hand with Lucifer the kind of lasting damage that act could have. She didn’t think God should get a free pass for His action just because He was, well, God.

“My brother is exceptionally good at painting himself as the victim,” Amenadiel said. “Did he also tell you that he started a rebellion? That he turned our brothers and sisters against each other? That he wanted to overthrow God, our Father, from His seat of power?”

“No,” she admitted.

 “I mean, can you imagine _Lucifer_ ruling the universe?” he asked her.

She could not.

The thought that he had the power to do so was a little mind-numbing.

“Of course, he was telling you the truth,” he said. “For all his faults, he’s not a liar. He’s not evil, but he’s not innocent, either. God didn’t send him to Hell just for wanting free will. He sent him down because his desire turned to treachery.”

“And he’s supposed to be punished forever, is that it?” she said. “My daughter has made mistakes too, but we talk about it, and then everything is forgiven. I can’t imagine throwing her out of the house forever and not bothering to explain myself. That’s cruel.”

“Lucifer chose his own punishment,” he said.

“You’re saying he tortured himself?” she clarified. Had he been just another Hell-bound soul that dictated their own punishment?

“Angels are self-determining,” Amenadiel told her. “Our perception bends our reality. Deep down, Lucifer believed himself to be a monster for inciting a rebellion against our Father, so when he looked in the mirror, a monster looked back at him. I believed my actions to shame what it is to be an angel, so I lost my wings and my powers and became all but human. Lucifer gave our mother her own universe, averting a war and bloodshed, and regained his wings because, subconsciously, he believed his actions to be those befitting an angel.”

_It’s the other way around_ , he’d told her. “So the reason he’s mortal when he’s around me…” she started. “It’s because he thinks his feelings for me make him weak?”

Amenadiel considered this for a moment. “It’s possible his physical vulnerability is a manifestation of his emotional vulnerability concerning you, yes,” he said.

It made sense that Lucifer would see having complex emotions as so debilitating that he rendered himself mortal in her presence. It made sense, but it was heartbreaking.

“I don’t want that for him,” she said.

“Then I suspect,” he said deliberately, “you’re going to have to convince him that his emotions don’t make him weak.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” she said. She could barely convince him that she wasn’t a divine manipulation sent by his Father to destroy his life.

“I have no idea,” Amenadiel said. “But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

* * *

“I spoke to Amenadiel yesterday,” Chloe said.

They had officially wrapped up the James Philips case, and she was sitting on the balcony of Lucifer’s penthouse. The sun would set in a couple hours and it was peaceful, to be raised above the din of the city.

“I bet he was a right bore,” said Lucifer, pouring himself a drink. “‘Humanity and divinity don’t mix’, blah blah blah. I’ve heard it all before.”

He probably had, if he was able to quote his brother word for word. “He certainly had some interesting things to say,” she said.

“Don’t listen to him,” he said. “He broods needlessly and has a terrible sense of humour.”

She shrugged. “I think I’ve reached a saturation point,” she said. “If I think any more, my brain is going to liquify and come out my ears. I can only take so much at once.”

“You’re handling it better than I ever imagined,” he said with that unshakeable confidence in her that had endeared him to her in the beginning. “You’ve known the truth about the divine for what, a couple of weeks? Give yourself some credit.”

“You’re sounding confident,” she said.

“Yes, well,” he said. “I’ve decided to ignore whatever intentions my Father may or may not have had when He put you in my path. Best case scenario, worst case scenario — it doesn’t change how I feel about you.” He raised his glass to her.

Warmth bloomed in her chest. She smiled at him. “Me neither,” she said.

He cleared his throat and looked away from her, fixing his gaze on the city around them. “Anyway,” he said. “You’ve had your share of revelations for the time being, I would say. Anything I can do to show you a good time?”

Chloe saw an opening. “You could make it up to me,” she said.

“Anything,” he told her.

“It’s a nice, sunny day,” she said innocently. “We could go for a swim.”

“That is a fantastic idea, Detective,” he said. “You put on the tiniest bikini you own — or, actually, on second thought, the tiniest bikini _I_ own — and I’ll sit back and enjoy the view.”

“You could join me,” she offered.

“I’m not sure how good I’d look in a bikini, but I could manage something for your viewing pleasure, Detective.”

It was almost too easy. He could be so predictable. “What about these?” she reached down into her bag and pulled out a pair of giant blue water wings.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you,” he said.

“You said anything,” she said innocently, waving the water wings at him.

“Even I have my limits, darling,” he said. “But for you, I will put on a tiny pair of swim trunks and lie in the sun. You’ll be free to admire my stunning physique, which was your goal all along, I’m sure. And I’m so generous I won’t even ask you to repay me by changing out of the hideous one-piece you’ve no doubt got stashed in there.”

She grinned and threw the water wings back in her bag. “Practically a saint,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “The depths you drive me to.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. She pulled out a bikini and dangled it in front of him. “ _I’m_ so generous, I’ll put on my two-piece for free.”

She laughed at his stunned expression and made her way over to the pool.


End file.
